Posts Tagged ‘friends’

My routine for the past year or so has been pretty, well, routine. Early morning exercise, a few hours of business — my consulting practice and/or household business — then off to Mom’s for the afternoon, and home again. Weekends are similar — more Mom time and usually less work time.

But over the past week, a couple of day trips have shaken things up a bit. First, Michael texted from New Hampshire where he’s an overnight camp counselor to say he had a day off and, if I had the time, he’d love to see his Mama. How could I turn down an invitation like that?!

The drive from Mom’s was a relatively easy two hours, so I was able to meet Michael and his buddy for a late dinner during which they shared stories of their campers, fellow counselors, and the challenges and rewards of being a counselor.

After a solid 12 hours of sleep, Michael had enough energy the next morning for breakfast at a nearby diner. Then we spent a couple of hours at a park, where he used my laptop to work through some “paperwork” for his upcoming college semester in Spain.

“Better late than never” was his mantra as he realized that some of the materials were due a month ago. Learning how to craft difficult emails is an important life skill as far as I’m concerned.

My heart was full as we said good bye. He’ll be back in mid August for about 72 hours before he leaves for four months in Spain.

Saturday morning found me and Mom heading to Maine for a visit to her dear friends Joe and Betty. As Mom’s dementia has progressed, she remembers fewer people, especially if they’re not present, but these friends of 65 years are like extensions of herself. Even when she can’t follow the conversation, her comfort level in their home is pretty high and her attentiveness to Joe, who’s not mobile and has significant cognitive declines himself, is touching.

The next morning, while a caregiver spent a few hours with Joe, “the girls” drove to a nearby ocean park and spent a lovely hour or so on a bench, chatting, enjoying the sea breeze, and watching birds, boats, waves, and beach-goers.

A talented knitter herself, Betty expressed her boredom with the charity hats she’s been knitting. I think I may have to introduce her to the wonders of sock knitting.

Back home on Sunday evening, Kevin, Patrick, and I watched the Red Sox after dinner, filling each other in our weekend’s activities, news, and observations.

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I don’t set New Year’s resolutions, knitting or otherwise. Occasionally, I’ll send an intention, often vague, into the universe — “try not to worry so much” or “live more mindfully” or “don’t buy new yarn until you’ve used at least as much from your stash.”

Just kidding about that last one.

But even though I’ve not set a “sock of the month” goal, I’m quite pleased and a bit surprised that my first socks of 2019 are knit and blocked.

Yarn is Patons Kroy Sock in Blue Striped Ragg with contrasting toe and heel in an anonymous yarn from aforementioned stash. They’re now wrapped in tissue paper and tucked away for someone special.

Those of you who’ve been with me for a while have seen a few of friend Judy’s socks, starting with her very first sock about five years ago when she took my knitting class. She’s made many pairs since, including this lovely pair of knee socks (her preferred length for her own socks), which she modeled at the gym this week.

She’s puzzled — and a bit bothered — by the relative droopiness of the left one, but since they’re knee socks, no one will know. Except you, of course, and I know you won’t say a thing.

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One of my life’s treasures is friendships that span decades — women (mostly) who’ve shared the ups, downs, and in-betweens, who can burst into laughter at the mere mention of a childhood memory and whose knowing glance and touch at long-ago or present pain is a balm. Trusting these friendships will last into our old age brings me hope and comfort.

As Mom’s mind continues to decline, her world shrinks. While she has many dear friends and one remaining sister, her speech, memory, and processing abilities are so diminished that she’s unable to stay connected with most.

Joe and Betty are the exception. Friends for more than 60 years, back in their medical and nursing school days, they’ve stayed close and have a comfort and ease with each other like no others.

So a couple of weeks ago, we drove north to their home in Maine for a visit and sleepover. Of course, we brought our knitting. Mom’s latest garter stitch scarf is made with some beautiful Malabrigo (or maybe Manos del Uruguay), a Christmas gift from beloved granddaughter Nora.

Joe is mostly home bound, his Parkinson’s-like disorder has stolen his movement and slowed his speech. Strong of body and mind, Betty is his main caregiver, assisted lovingly by their son and daughter-in-law who live nearby. She’s a talented knitter, too, working on several hat and scarf sets for Special Olympics Maine.

As Betty and Mom got supper ready, I pulled my chair close to Joe’s and settled in with our wine (me) and whiskey (him) for a chat. Over the course of the next 20 minutes, he shared his perspective on medical training — how he became a pediatrician during his Navy service and later a pathologist — and memories, many of my father, who was one of Joe’s closest friends and a trusted colleague.

Joe was my and my brothers’ pediatrician until I was about 6 or 7. I told him that one of my earliest memories was me lying on our kitchen table at age 3 or so and having a doctor — was it Joe? — lance my close-to-bursting ear drum lest it burst itself. He didn’t recall that procedure and suggested it was another doctor. But he did recall clearly performing his very first lumbar puncture (spinal tap) on me when I was an infant and suffered a febrile convulsion.

Slowly and haltingly, he shared an intense conversation with my father, who had asked him to do the tap, telling him that he’d never performed the procedure and explaining the risk of infection and complications. Despite his current limitations, he clearly conveyed the urgency and intimacy of that long-ago conversation. I can only imagine the fear they both felt at the time and the utmost trust they had for each other.

As Mom dozed on the drive home the next day, I went over our visit — the warmth and ease of being with people who know you so well and love you so profoundly — and my conversation with Joe in particular.

Tomorrow is the 35th anniversary of my father’s death, and while I think of him — and even talk to him — often, I realize that I rarely talk with his friends, those who knew him as an adult, a colleague, a too-short-but-still-lifelong friend. Joe’s memories gave specificity to the general “he was a great man” view of my father. Our visit with Betty and Joe wasn’t just a fun overnight; it was a gift I’ll treasure forever.

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I’m happy to report that Mom’s been home for a few weeks and has regained her pre-pneumonia strength and balance. It helped that she was quite fit before she was hospitalized and that we walked with her around the hospital floor several times a day whether she wanted to or not.

Last week, we introduced a couple of home health aides who help five days each week so brother Luke and I can maintain our work lives, sanity, and marriages. We also consider it an insurance policy of sorts so that neither of us is overwhelmed if the other gets sick, has a major work obligation, or wants to take a day trip or — gasp — vacation.

The transition and adjustment has been blessedly smooth. The aides are professional, kind, and experienced. Although she’s sometimes confused about why they’re there, Mom has welcomed them into her home and life quite readily.

A few days ago, she agreed to return to the hair salon, a short walk down the hill, after refusing to go for several weeks. The wonderful staff were pleased to see her and told her so. While her hair was washed, cut, and styled, I resumed my usual seat by the window and worked a few rounds of the Vanilla Latte sock.

We spend a fair bit of time each day knitting. I don’t like to even think of the day that she forgets how to do the knit stitch. Having finished two garter stitch scarves, Mom has started another one in a lovely creamy white. I cast on 30 stitches, and she’s taken it from there.

Yesterday, we were joined — remotely — by my friend Judy, who reported that she was back in the knitting routine, too. From her home about 60 miles away, she sent an update via text.

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Turns out that Chris and Karen’s overnight visit to Nantucket, followed by a 12-hour journey home to Northern Virginia, was just the first travel rally of our vacation. [Note: neither Patrick nor I participated in either rally. We’re supporters only.]

Months ago, Hannah and her squad of four NYC Sister-Friends had synced their work schedules and planned a vacation — no small feat in and of itself. Hannah arrived mid-day Friday after a brief detour at home. The foursome would arrive by air later that night.

However, true to its name, the “Little Grey Lady of the Sea” put a damper on those plans. Low, thick fog blanketed the island, and all flights were cancelled. After they turned down the airline’s offered rescheduled flight on Monday evening and discovered that there were no rental cars in all of New York City available for a one-way trip to Cape Cod, and after dozens of texts, a plan emerged.

New York’s Port Authority bus terminal isn’t a particularly lovely place at any time of day, but I imagine that it’s less so than usual at 3:00AM on a Saturday morning, which is when their bus to Boston departed.

About four hours later, the sun was shining — even if they weren’t — when they arrived in Boston and made their way to our house about 10 miles away.

Kevin had left the key under the mat and a welcome note including details on where to nap and how to turn on the coffee maker. They collapsed and napped a bit until Hannah — who’d taken a 7:30 fast ferry from the island and driven 1.5 hours home — arrived. They piled in, and she reversed the journey.

And so it was, that 24 hours after they’d left work, they arrived. While the previous night’s fog had lifted, the afternoon was cloudy and cool. So they had the beach to themselves.

Back home, they shared stories of their adventures around the table and around the fire. As Patrick and I had noted the night before when their rally plan was hatched, this will make for a great memory.

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I’m regularly surprised by how long it’s been since we moved from the Washington, DC, area. I know, I know, “surprising” probably isn’t the right word if I keep doing it, but really — 21 years?!

We’ve been fortunate to maintain friendships by visiting once a year or so and seeing friends whose travels take them to the Boston area. And then there’s our wonderful family — my brother Chris, sister-in-law Karen, their two teen daughters and pre-teen son. The best fringe benefit of my eight-month interim management gig at a DC-area organization last year was my weekly visits to their home. Plus the rates and amenities were unbeatable!

Patrick and I flew down early Friday morning after snagging same-day tickets (released online at 6:30am) to the National Museum of African American History and Culture. I cannot recommend it highly enough. Like all great museums, there’s no way to experience it in a day (even an entire day) and you could return again and again and come away with new knowledge and inspiration. And probably sore feet, which you could rest alongside the water at the entrance.

While on a morning walk through our old neighborhood, I was lucky enough to bump into an old long-time friend and former co-worker. Since he was heading out to walk his dog, we walked together back to Chris and Karen’s, sharing news of spouses, children, his brand new grandchild, professional endeavors, with only a bit of shared dismay at the state of what passes for political “leadership” today.

Patrick and I won the aunt-uncle lottery (albeit with no competition) and took the kiddos on a field trip to National Harbor for a few hours on Sunday. Nothing educational; just walking about. Since we’re not their parents, we said “yes” to nearly everything they expressed interest in. There’s a candy store? Let’s get a bag or maybe a chocolate covered Oreo. Ice cream? Absolutely. Nail polish that changes color in the sunshine? Who would be without it?!

There’s a fair bit of public art — statues, like this one of Henry Ford, which A. enjoyed mimicking.

The little kids’ play area included less historic, if slightly more creepy, sculptures.

A giant sculpture of a giant, The Awakening, had been moved from its original site along the Potomac in D.C. to a human-made beach at National Harbor, where its various parts are explored by young and old alike.

Four times around on the giant Ferris wheel gave plenty of opportunity to watch planes heading toward the nearby airport, gaze down at the marina and shops, speculate that it’d be a great place for an action movie scene, and wonder if you could survive a jump into the harbor from this height.

Some day I hope to be able to take a selfie with Patrick in which we don’t look dopey, but for now, what you see is what we get.

The Sunshine Coast sweater got a bit bigger on the two flights, but you can’t really tell from this picture. Interspersed among the inches of stockinette stitch there are some lovely, subtle details. You’ll have to trust me on that for now.

Another highlight of the weekend was my visit to Fibre Space, a wonderful LYS that’s only a few blocks from Chris and Karen’s house. Stay tuned for that post later this week.

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It’s been ages since I dropped by the marvelous JP Knit & Stitch for a sit-down with some kick-ass knitters. Yesterday’s hourlong session renewed my spirit and my commitment to not let so much time pass before I return.

Shelley, the brains and brawn behind the Sheep Ahoy Cruise, was working on two projects. I’m sure she has several more at home because she’s not one of those freskish rare knitters who only works on one project at time.

Look at this beautiful Icelandic sweater that she’s making with some Lopi that someone donated to me from a loved one’s stash.

Her smaller project is a stranded (or is it Fair Isle?) hat in a Winter Olympics motif. Hope she gets in done in time for her luge competition!

That’s Joy in the background, using her big brown down coat as a lap blanket. In typical fashion, she’s put down her knitting and is focused intently on whomever is speaking. A more kind and generous soul you’ll rarely find. She’s a talented baker and never fails to bring a few treats, wrapped in foil, for knitting and shop staff alike. Yesterday it was almond cake bars (high protein, of course!) — there in the background of this shot of Joanne’s recently completed cowl.

She’d modified the Gaptastic pattern, making it a bit more narrow and shorter. Lovely, don’t you think?

She’d also brought an almost-completed cardigan, which just needs a couple of buttons sewn on. This photo doesn’t convey the rich green-blue color of the yarn, but trust me, it’s beautiful.

Part of what I love about knitting is its duality — it’s both a solitary and a social craft. While I love to sit (or occasionally stand) by myself as I work on a project, there’s something very soul satisfying to be in the company of others — sharing stories, ideas, heartbreak, and joys — all while creating something new from two sticks and some string.

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Since finishing the striped shawl, I’ve been in a bit of a knitting rut. To be candid, it mirrors my present state of mind — preoccupied with challenges that leave me mentally jumping from one thing to another. But I believe I’ve found a remedy of sorts, in the form of a small, relatively quick project perfect for gift-giving and for using up small amounts of leftover yarn.

May I present a candle jar cover:

This first one is pretty wonky, the result of my not paying attention to the pattern. Funny how that works. I decided that lighter weight yarn would be preferable and dug out some fingering weight that the marvelous Ann Weaver gave me on my first Sheep Ahoy Knitting Cruise. Yes, it’s more than three years ago. Don’t tell me that I’m the only knitter with three-year old yarn in her stash.

I cast on while having dinner by myself before a ferry crossing 10 days ago. I’d ordered a Dark & Stormy in memory of dear Barb (and because I like the taste) and was enjoying the sunset and nearby table conversations.

A friend commented later how nicely the color of the yarn matched the beverage, and that’s when I knew that this project would be named the Dark & Stormy Candle Jar Wrap. What better for a dark and stormy night than a candle shining bright and safely protected in a glass jar?

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I don’t know about you, but I haven’t made many new, close friends in my 50s. I’m blessed to have quite a few Sister-Friends, those phenomenal women with whom I share strong bonds of trust, love, and shared experience. Most of them I’ve known for many years.

Imagine my delight several years ago when I met and made two Sister-Friends in the matter of a week, over the course of my first (their second) Sheep Ahoy Knitters’ Cruise. Cathie and Barb had been work colleagues, close friends, and stash-enabling knitting buddies for 25 years, and they welcomed me with open arms.

Barb brought us all tiaras for “formal night” in the sheep’s ship’s dining room. Of course.

Cathie shared a story that illustrates Barb’s obsession with love of yarn and her sense of humor perfectly:

“One time, we went to a yarn fare in Kitchener, arriving when the doors opened. In the first 15 minutes, we had each spent several hundred dollars and had to make a trip to the car. I said ‘this could be a problem – we’ve only been here 15 minutes.’ Barbie said, ‘I know, I’m worried there won’t be enough room in my trunk!’

The three of us snorted with laughter on a regular basis whenever we were together. I’m quite sure none of us has been able to look at almond milk without giggling. We emailed, occasionally talked on the phone, went on another Sheep Ahoy cruise, this time to Canada and Maine. Love, laughter, and knitting abounded whenever we were together and even when we weren’t.

And then tragedy struck. Last week, Barb died of advanced lung cancer that she, who never smoked, had been diagnosed with in April.

I’m trying to focus on the positive and be grateful for having been blessed with such a wonderful friend. And I am, truly. But sometimes the sadness and unfairness of it all tightens my throat and squeezes tears from my eyes.

I’ll remember her this way — with an armful of yarn, a sparkle in her eyes, and a smile on her face, giddy with the optimism and possibility of what would come next.

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Long-time readers will know of my knitting cruise adventures with my Canadian sister-friends, Barb and Cathie. Recent life circumstances required us to get together for a couple of days in lovely Ontario.

Cathie flew in from Vancouver and I from Boston. With a right-off-the-lot rental car, we headed west to Barb’s home in the countryside. After initial hugs and smiles, we settled in to comfy seats on the sun-lit porch. Before we knew it, several hours had passed. Topics ranged from national politics (Canadian and US), the most recent Ship Ahoy Knitting Cruise (which none of us were able to partake of) hopes for future cruises, updates on our children and Barb’s grandchild, and of course, knitting — stashes, projects (current and future).

Barb’s mother was a home economics teacher for many years, so we had many giggles over some of the recipes in her mid-1960s cook books. Wonder who made Moonbeam Salad Loaf, the ingredients of which were lime gelatin, cottage cheese, and marshmallows (cut into eighths, of course!)?!

Barb’s dear husband Bill keep us fed and watered with a variety of cheeses, crackers, and white wine. After dinner (courtesy of Cathie and a local caterer), we picked up our needles and watched Murder on the Orient Express. I couldn’t keep my eyes open long enough to find out “who done it” so it’s still a mystery to me!

The morning was sunny and clear, so the three of us sat outdoors with coffee and knitting, surrounded by birdsong and birds, for a lovely hour or so before breakfast.

Being a road trip, we were compelled to check out Barb’s LYS, Little Red Mitten in St. Thomas. Fun fact: the shop is across the street from the statue of Jumbo, the town’s most famous 19th century elephant. Curious to know more? Read this.

The Little Red Mitten was fabulous — room after room of scrumptious yarns, patterns, and samples. Who could resist?

In a feat of perfect timing that must come from 38 years of marriage to a knitter, Bill arrived just as we finished shopping. Hugs, kisses, and perhaps a tear or two were exchanged in the parking lot as we went our separate ways.

Cathie and I headed west to London Yarns — a truly remarkable example of a creative and successful retailer. When she lived in Toronto, Cathie was a frequent customer of London Yarns; based on her descriptions of the many, many projects she made from their afghan and other kits, I’d say she could be considered a part-owner!

She’s smitten (a kinder word than obsessed) with the adorable Top This baby hat kits. And really, who wouldn’t be? Did I mention that London Yarn takes phone orders and will ship to Canada and the US?

Mindful of my carry-on bag’s size, I limited myself to 2 balls of Drake Duet for a cowl (details in future post) and 2 small balls of neon yarn for a project-to-be-named-later (when I can think of something!)

When asked at US Customs if I had anything to declare, I refrained from blurting out, “I declare that I had a soul-warming visit with two crazy wonderful knitters whom I miss already.”

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The fourth annual Sheep Ahoy Knitter’s Cruise has just set sail for Bermuda! Mom (Nancy) and I are on board for our second trip together. She’s a veteran of all four!

Dear friend Cathie has come from Vancouver for the adventure. We are very sad that fellow Canadian and dear friend Barb had to cancel because of a medical emergency. Perhaps you’ve heard of the children’s book and project, Flat Stanley? We’ve got a digital Flat Barb. She joined us for lunch today.